Chapter Eight

Smith

THE SUN IS SLANTING through the blinds in our bedroom. Half of Megan’s face is covered by a streaking, black shadow. She’s been upset since meeting Carina. A day has passed and she’s still talking about it. We just had morning sex and it’s still the main subject in our world. Sex did nothing to assure her that she shouldn’t have any fears with regard to my loyalties. “I love you, Meg. You,” I say, cradling her face.

She shakes her head, tossing her blond hair around. “I was upset when you told me about the interviews. You know that, but when you combine the fact that you’re telling her things you’re not comfortable telling me, and the way you look at her…I can’t handle it,” she says, pulling my hand down. “The way you looked at her. That look.”

I clear my throat. It’s a solitary look she’s dissecting. It’s unbelievable. “How did I look at her?” I clutch the sheets in my hand. “Since you’re obviously a master in reading people and body language now.” I am. She knows that.

Megan pulls the sheets up to cover her bare chest. “That’s the horrible thing. I don’t have to be an expert, Smith. It was so glaringly obvious.” She sits up, and the shadow encompasses her whole face. “I’m a master at reading you,” she says. “That’s what is important to note.”

There is truth in her words. A poignant sentiment I can’t deny no matter how I spin it. Isn’t that why I’m with her? Because she knows me and us so well? “I don’t want to argue about this anymore. I’m here. In our bed. With you.”

A tiny sob escapes her mouth. She’s a pretty crier. A fact that breaks my heart. I usually avoid saying anything that invokes it. It bothers me that much. “That look, Smith. Is the one that used to be reserved for me. I haven’t seen it since the accident.” Megan stands from the bed, her naked back exposed. She perches her hands on her hips. “It was so innocent, too. You had no idea you were even doing it. It was effortless.”

I blow out a long breath and run my fingers through my hair. “You can’t be sure. It was mere seconds, Meg. Please,” I beg. “Come back to bed.”

She told me I was insatiable before. Hopefully this show of my old self can straighten this argument for good.

Slowly, she spins. My mind plays tricks on me as the angular shadows cut across her body. “I need you to be honest with me. You owe me honesty. I deserve it.” Standing there, she looks so stunning, I’d agree to anything she wanted.

Her beauty overtakes my fear and I respond, “Of course.”

“I’ve given this my all—trying desperately to show you what we had,” she says, shaking her head. “It would be selfish of me to even be upset about it, I guess. But you’re not going to remember us, are you?”

I scoot closer to her by sliding to her side of the bed. “You know I can’t answer that. I promised we could start over and try to incorporate old memories with the new. That’s what I can say as truth. That doctors don’t know if I’ll ever remember.”

“You’re a different man now. I’m trying to stay in love with the man from my past. That’s not you and if I’m being brutally honest, I know you don’t love me. Not like you used to. Seeing you look at Carina reminded me of that.” The look that destroyed everything. “The fact is you don’t see me like that anymore, Smith. It’s time we both move on. I can’t settle for this.” She waves her arm in my direction. “And you deserve to have happiness. I won’t be the reason you don’t.” It’s twisted. Megan has been my sole reason for happiness during my recovery. On my darkest days, when I thought my arms had turned to fire and would never heal, she brought me my favorite meal—and then fed it to me. She told me jokes and did everything in her power to help me forget about my pain. That was all I could do at that point. Forget. Even more than I already had.

This is a huge mistake. I can’t accept it, no matter how I look at Carina. Megan is my safe place. I make a move to stop her, but she cuts me off with a look and a wave of her hand. “I’m a lady, Smith. Please let this happen on my terms. I was there for you. I’m glad I could be there for you, but I think it’s best if we go our separate ways now. I have nothing left to give you.” She wraps her arms around her middle as tears cut a path down her face. I approach her slowly, making sure she’ll accept me.

In between sobs, I wrap her in my arms. “This is what you want?” I ask. It’s rhetoric, mostly. I know it’s not what she wants, but what she’s going to do regardless, because that’s the type of woman she is.

She pulls away from the hug to look me in the eyes. “This isn’t what you want,” she corrects. “I’m tired of fighting for something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

My pulse picks up, hammering a symphony against my neck. Uncontrollable nerves and anxiety overtake my body. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t think I want this to happen, but a funny thing occurs. I don’t try to fix it. When I open my mouth to speak, she kisses me, her hands pressing the sides of my face.

“Let me have this. Don’t say anything, please. My dignity is on the line,” she whispers.

I nod, holding her fingers in my hand. I look down and see her beautiful nails and thin fingers shake in my grasp. She leaves the room, closing the door behind her as she goes. This wasn’t make-up sex, this was break-up sex. I blow out a huge pent-up breath.

I realize something monumental has happened. Something that changes everything. And if all she’s told me is factual, this will be the first time in my adult life I will live without Megan. I sink back into the bed in shock. Reaching for my cell, I dial Moose, because I can’t call the first person that came to mind. Not yet. That wouldn’t be fair to Megan.

And I’m not quite sure what that means.

****

I have three large suitcases and six sea bags in the back of my truck when I pull into the parking lot of Balboa Park. Megan left the house before I got out of the shower, leaving a note that said I should be out of the house by tonight. It’s the oddest sensation to be free and clear, without a clue of what comes next. I have another training trip in a few days and then a six-month deployment looming. If I concentrate on that, perhaps it will be an easy transition into forced bachelorhood. Am I upset? Both yes and no. I mourn our recent memories, but I know I don’t feel the grief that she must. A decade of memories being obliterated by my accident. As if I didn’t have enough to feel guilty about.

I find Carina’s huge SUV and park next to it. I almost cancelled the meeting, but I had to get out of the house, and Moose isn’t home yet, so I can’t head over there for a few more hours. She looks over from the driver’s seat of her vehicle when I hop out and open her door for her.

Grabbing her bag, she slips out and looks both left and right, searching for him. That’s nothing new. “Hey, how are you?” I ask and then notice her hair. “Made a big change, huh?”

Mindlessly she runs a hand through her freshly dyed locks. “Oh, yeah. They were able to squeeze me in early this morning. It’s different, I know.” She slings her bag over one shoulder and hands me the blanket to spread on the ground. I tell her it’s a good different, that it reminds me of the sand at an exotic location, and she smiles bashfully. We walk down the sidewalk, heading for the large banyan tree in the corner. The roots are exposed, but there’s a section of flat ground for seating. More importantly, it’s away from people and has the perfect amount of shade and sun.

Carina walks a few steps in front of me. Her hair isn’t dark anymore. It’s shades of blonds with light browns and it fades gradually from root to tip. She looks completely different—more confident, less of a wallflower. Not that she was ever unattractive. Quite the opposite, actually. Now, more people will notice her. I don’t like that.

With a huff, she sits down on the blanket, crosses her ankles, and leans back on her elbows. She makes no motion to grab her tape recorder or her notebook. A fact I notice first and foremost. She’s usually straight to business. “Sit,” she says, patting the seat next to her. “I have some news for you.” She smiles, her cheeks rounding and her eyes narrowing.

“I have some news, too,” I reply, making myself comfortable.

With a sigh, she says, “Let me get mine out of the way first.” Carina closes her eyes. “I left Roarke and filed a restraining order against him. I’m staying with Jasmine while I look for a place.” Her new hair makes more sense. This is the best possible news I could receive today.

“All since yesterday? You’ve been busy,” I remark. My own smile eases when I see that she’s visibly upset. Gently, I place my hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing. Of course you did the right thing.”

She groans. “You know when you look in the mirror and you see the person you used to be? Sometimes you don’t recognize who you are? Maybe other days you see a stranger—someone who can’t possibly be you because the person staring back at you has none of the redeeming qualities that respectable people have? It sounds foolish, doesn’t it? To view yourself one way when in reality you’re the opposite.”

A lump forms in my throat. Running my hand up my arm, I rub the back of my neck. “I know the feeling all too well. If you want to talk glass half full, realizing this is the first step to becoming who you want to be,” I explain.

Carina looks off over my shoulder, her amber eyes filled with an emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. Her eyes are so beautiful. They shine with so much, but sometimes I don’t think she uses them to see. She uses them to hide from everything that resides behind.

“I want to be the person I thought I was. It’s hard, though, because I’m terrified. Not because I’m fearful of him. I’m fearful of what he’ll do to any progress I make. I’m afraid to start making a new life if he’s going to take it away again. I’m not sure I’ll be able to come out on the other side of that. Not again,” Carina says. Her gaze flits to mine and holds. She grins. “I’m sorry for talking your ear off. Didn’t you have news? Probably better than mine.”

“This is way more important than my news, Carina. I’m happy for you.” I pick up a strand of her lighter hair that lies on her shoulder. She keeps her grin as she watches my hand. “Nothing is going to happen. He’s not going to hurt you again.”

“What if I’m not strong enough, though?”

“Strong enough to what? You left him. That’s the hardest part.”

Carina sighs and takes my hand in hers. Her gaze stays on the red, scarred skin of my hand. “What if I’m not strong enough to stay away from him? I know he’s going to try to get me back. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to tell him no. Isn’t that sick?” With her thumb she rubs the skin between my thumb and forefinger.

I capture her thumb with my thumb. “I see the woman who you think you aren’t. You’re more than capable of handling this with ease and strength. You have support, you have a plan. You are strong enough.”

She coughs, removes her hand from my grasp, and folds her hands in her lap. “I hope you’re right, Smith. God, I hope you’re right.”

Giving her my biggest smile, I say, “I’m almost always right, Carina.”

She presses her lips to the side. “Somehow, I believe that,” Carina says, folding her hair from one side to the other. “Thank you for listening to this mess. I know that’s not in your job description. You’re a good friend to me.” Somewhere in between email exchanges and interviews we became friends. The kind that you can tell anything to. The kind that last a lifetime. I’m sure of it.

“You’re writing my story. I have to be good to you. What if you kill me off?”

She laughs and a genuine smile graces me with its presence. I can’t help but laugh in return. The fact that true happiness exists in this day is confusing.

A small dog runs over to pick up a red ball that’s landed at our feet. “I want a cat,” Carina says.

“Because you saw a dog?” I ask with a chuckle.

She smiles and waves at the owner, who is several yards away calling for the little fuzz ball. “No, I’ve always wanted a cat, but Roarke is allergic.”

Of course he is. That fucker is allergic to life. “You can have seven cats now. If you want.”

“Ha. Ha,” she says, a sarcastic grin pulling her lips. “The writer with seven cats. You’re trying to bury me early, aren’t you?”

I don’t respond. I just watch her in this peaceful moment. It helps ease the Megan pain buried in my chest. It’s like even my heart knows what my mind has forgotten.

Carina leans her head back when a stray sunbeam finds its way through the tree branches. It lights her face beautifully. She hums. “I was thinking last night when I obviously couldn’t sleep. With the pace of my thoughts, it was never going to happen. I realized something. You know how in horror novels, sometimes right in the middle, there’s this really great, warm chapter to break up the gore?”

I grunt in agreement even though I don’t read horror novels. I watch her pink lips as she opens to speak again. Her head falls to the side and she looks at me. “You’re my warm, fuzzy middle chapter.”

The sentiment steals my breath.

“In the most proper, platonic, friendly way, that is,” she tacks on the end.

I want to tell her that it doesn’t have to be that way anymore, that even Megan knows how I feel, but somehow bringing my feelings into this conversation seems dirty and wrong. I don’t want to sully this moment with anything. Carina is opening herself to me, and in response, my entire heart is grateful. That’s enough for now.

I laugh. “Of course. In that proper horror novel way,” I reply.

She shakes her head.

“I should tell you a story. I’ll tell you my news another day.”

She sits up straight, excited. “That’s a great idea. I’ve written a couple chapters already. I couldn’t hold back any longer. Greenleigh is in the building. Whenever you’re ready.” She doesn’t take out her tape recorder this time, just a small notebook and a hot pink pen. She presses it between her lips as she waits for me to begin. I decide on a funny story about my very first deployment as a SEAL. It’s when Moose and Henry became my best friends—when the brotherhood everyone talked about was defined. It involves cigars, sunburns, a wrecked four-wheeler, and a video camera.

I tell her about the surreal quality that lingered around me during those months. I was finally doing what I’d dreamed of doing my whole life—of what men across the world die to do. Everyday motions seemed that much more important because I was contributing to an effort bigger than anything I could think of. All of those months of trials and training—Hell Week, SEAL Qualification Training (SQT), were being put to use. I was prepared for anything. I can’t describe the feeling of pride that happens when preparedness meets talent, knowing the caliber of men surrounding me. All of it was surreal perfection, albeit dangerous.

Carina scribbles down her notes furiously as I keep talking. She asks so many questions. They aren’t superficial questions, either. She wants to know what I was thinking when so and so happened and why I made a certain choice. She forces me into this introspective atmosphere that stings with reality. Her whole demeanor changes when we talk. Gone is the meek, mild-tempered woman. She’s replaced with a voracious, hungry woman. She’s sharp-tongued and holds nothing back. Carina isn’t scared when we’re talking. She’s merely herself.

“You remember all of those details from that long ago? It’s so strange. Your amnesia,” Carina remarks.

I’m thankful for the memories I’ve kept, but a lot of times they’re just a reminder of everything I’ve forgotten. Megan. My stomach flips. I have an honest to goodness bout of dizziness.

Sighing, I hang my head down to regain my wiles. “I’m lucky to be alive. That’s the fact we need to focus on.” I blink several times to clear my head. “Do you believe in a higher power, Carina?”

She seems taken aback by my question. “Of course,” Carina replies, waving her hand to the side. “Look at this.” She lays a hand on her chest. “And this,” she says, gently laying her fingers on my exposed forearm. “Why do you ask?”

“I have to believe the things I’ve forgotten were meant to stay that way. When I think about it, I feel guilty, so I’ve come to blame someone else. I may never remember, or I could wake up tomorrow and have every single memory come flooding back. I chose to believe I have no control in that. Someone or something larger than life has a hand in that choice. I’m okay with it. So, yes. I remember those details because I was supposed to.”

Carina shakes her head and slides her notebook back into her bag. “I don’t know if I believe in it that much. I understand why you do, though.” She sits up straight, tucks her golden locks behind one ear, and narrows her eyes. “It’s easy to blame anyone other than yourself.”

With one sentence, she’s torn a hole in my defense. I can’t blame myself because I can’t remember. But I should be to blame. For pushing Megan away inadvertently. For trying to gain our old relationship back for too long. For spending more time rehabbing my career instead of my engagement. I am to blame, and I’ve realized all of that is okay. I take her hand in mine. “Thank you.”

She smiles and looks away. “I have no idea what you’re thanking me for, but you’re welcome. I should be the one thanking you. You gave me enough to write into the wee hours of the morning.” I release her hand, but she doesn’t move it away from me. I do see her quick gaze dart around us every once in a while. Her gaze flicks back to the little dog. She smiles.

“Don’t be afraid, Carina. You’re safe. I’m proud of you. I’m here for you.” I also tell her that there’s no way he would recognize her with her new hair.

She doesn’t think the joke is funny, but she does tell me she’s shopping for a new car this afternoon with Jasmine. She is trying to disappear without disappearing.

“You can’t be there for me,” she says, stopping mid-sentence. Carina closes her mouth and looks away. “You can’t.”

“Of course I can,” I return.

She sighs. “You don’t live with me, Smith. No one can keep me completely safe twenty-four hours a day. There’s vulnerability in merely living. I’m sure it will get better with time,” she says, swallowing. “But right now the last thing I feel is safe.”

I nod. With a hammering heart, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I’ll live with you.”

“What?” Carina asks, voice loud.

I shrug. “I’m not allergic to cats.”